


they loved.

by mppmaraudergirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Compilation, F/M, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Era, Jily compilation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:27:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29504799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mppmaraudergirl/pseuds/mppmaraudergirl
Summary: Compilation of Jily fanfic/drabbles set during the Hogwarts years. Mostly comprised of prompts I have received.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35





	1. they loved.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter and everything related belongs first, and foremost, to JK Rowling, and then to her partnerships with Bloomsbury, Scholastics, Warner Bros., etc.
> 
> I have decided to finally compile all of the drabbles I have posted on tumblr over the years. Starting it all with a short ficlet that, to me, summarizes how James and Lily loved.

James Potter loved. He loved fiercely, wholly, somewhat recklessly.

James Potter loved. He loved those cast aside, those society told him not to, those who did not always love themselves. (He ached to his bones when he realized his scarred twelve-year-old dorm mate often felt unworthy to be loved.) Love vibrated within him, was ingrained in his every move, in the small moments when nobody was looking – in the last piece of pie set aside for Peter who was running late from Ancient Runes, in the nicked Pepper-Up vials always within reach on Remus’ night-stand, in the latest _Prophet_ crossword tucked into Sirius’ school bag. Love in gestures often unseen, small waves of affection that alluded even the recipient at times.

He showed love with sacrifice and generosity and _words_. It took him years to learn that sometimes, love was shown by silence.

But no matter the gesture, he showed love – always – with _loyalty_.

Lily Evans loved delicately, gently, selflessly. Once, she thought love was a game as simple as what she and Petunia could invent during an afternoon on the playground. Love allowed you fly, lifted you up, made you boundless. Love was visible in the way her father always made her mother’s tea exactly how she liked it. Love was her mother always putting her father’s favorite albums on the record player, the sounds mixing with the warm July breeze slipping in through the open windows. Love was Petunia unthinkingly giving her the last bite of ice cream on their summer holiday before school started.

After a time, Lily wondered how such simple things could be love, could be enough, when they left nothing lasting behind. It took her years to realize, she thought love was honesty. Even if honesty was messy which it often was. That love was sticking by someone’s side, even if it seemed like the world was pulling you apart.

She thought love was trust, and selflessness. When she was sixteen, she learned love and friendship without _loyalty_ were nothing. After some time, she realized she had known it all along.

When Lily and James were sixteen, they realized love wasn’t always requited.

When they were seventeen, they realized _theirs_ was.

When they were eighteen, they realized if love was all they had, then they would celebrate it, tend to it like a garden, and never inhibit its growth.

When they were nineteen, they realized love was their strength when they felt as if they had none.

When they were twenty, they realized they hadn’t known a damn thing about love until it was laid swaddled in their arms.

When they were twenty-one, they realized, with a flash of green, that love – whatever it was, loyalty, honesty, _sacrifice_ – could not save them.


	2. 'tell me that again when you're sober'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ”i love you”   
> "tell me that again when you’re sober”

The irony of her current situation is not lost on her. Her current situation? Her, the Head Girl, sneaking back to Gryffindor tower from an unsanctioned Hogsmeade visit. With her boyfriend, the Head Boy, of two months. Who happens to be _completely_ sloshed.

Time has taught her a lot about her boyfriend. She isn’t overly fond of some of the things she has learned, though time has taught her quite a few things she is _more_ than fond of, and a number of other things she is surprised to learn considering she has known him for so long.

The fact that he knows multiple secret passageways into Hogsmeade? Not surprising in the least.

The fact that he has a bloody _invisibility cloak_? Shocking, but it tracks.

The fact that he is a talkative, affectionate drunk? She knows she is sunk because she somehow likes him _even_ _more_ for it.

Likes. Not love. Not yet.

Not yet?

At the present, he is under said invisibility cloak walking alongside her down the fifth-floor corridor. Their hands are tucked together, at his insistence, though really it looks like she is grasping air to anyone who might happen to see her.

She can’t say that she is completely sober herself, though she feels she is fairing much better than him, having consumed two fewer drinks. She is pulling herself together, knowing that the last thing either of them want is to be discovered – them, _the Head Boy and Girl_ – coming back from an illegal trip to Hogsmeade, drunk on mead and brandy (and each other).

She can still taste remnants of brandy, despite having consumed none of it herself.

“Evans,” James whispers suddenly, as the end of the fifth-floor corridor comes into view. His voice sounds light from drink and she knows – even though she can’t see it – that he has a crooked smile on his face.

“Shh,” she directs him. “Wait until we’re back in the common room. You’re a loud drunk, James.”

“Evans, I _can’t_. This is important.”

She halts suddenly just a moment after he does. His hand in hers often feels like her only anchor to reality. Right now, it feels like her only anchor to _him_.

“Important enough to risk getting caught by Filch?” she whispers back, looking where she expects his face to be.

“Yes,” he breathes out, just as she feels a light touch on her side which she knows to be his hand under the cloak.

“James, seriously. I’m spent. Let’s just get back to the common room, yeah? Then we can talk if it’s truly so important.”

“Lily.”

She shivers, and not because of the drafty corridor.

“ _James_ —” she begins, her tone sharpening slightly, as she tugs his invisible hand forward.

“I love you.”

She laughs dismissively. “Tell me that again when you’re sober.”

“Evans—Lily. Hang on. I mean it, I love you.”

“ _James_ ,” she says, looking back only after she realizes she is tugging thin air.

The cloak is off him now, and his face is set in that stubborn, determined way she has long associated with Quidditch. It’s a look that has kept her up at night on more than one occasion. He closes the distance in two strides, hands now grasping her face on either side, brushing the loose hair away from her eyes.

“I love you,” he repeats again.

A wave of shock crashes down on her, vanquishing all other thoughts, all other realities. It is as though she is floating, head just above water, but wishing instead to be drowning, consumed entirely by the boy, no, man – at seventeen the pressure of the world has already changed him to a man, gleaming, sharp yet sometimes fragile, like glass born from sand – before her. As these thoughts overwhelm her, she realizes she is not much different than he.

Certainly not more sober. Certainly not less in love.

“I love you, too.”

She doesn’t have a moment to breathe, or think, before his lips and body crash into her. She is snuggled against him, pulled under the water finally. Drowning, drowning, drowning, with no desire to resurface ever again. He seems only too willing to oblige to this unspoken request, even as he pulls away, continuing to engulf her with his eyes.

“You know there’s only a five percent chance either of us will remember saying this in the morning,” she tells him, breathless.

“’Course I’ll remember it, Evans. I’m sober as can be. Though ‘fraid I can’t say the same for you. But you needn’t worry. If you wake up tomorrow forgetting that I love you, I’ll be happy to remind you.”


	3. 'um, I was just joking'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I love you”   
> “What? I love you too”   
> ...”um, I was just joking”

There was nothing quite like the warmth of a late spring night when partnered with the sharp burn of Firewhiskey and the pure elation of a Quidditch Cup victory. The party in the Gryffindor common room was dying down, proving to be a stark contrast from the fire and candles that still kept the room bright for the few rosy-cheeked sixth and seventh years not quite ready to call it quits.

Lily was draped across a large armchair in front of the fire, fingers and toes tingling from the warmth of possibly one-too-many firewhiskeys. _She_ had been making them too strong, so the boys had stepped in to – in Sirius’ words – _moderate her consumption_.

She was _very_ skeptical that moderation was in any part of Sirius Black’s vocabulary.

And the part of her sensibility that was still dangling on the edge of her subconscious told her it probably wouldn’t make much of a difference in the morning. She already had an appointment with the girls’ toilet that even a strong hangover potion probably couldn’t save her from.

Two firewhiskeys later, that fleeting internal voice of sensibility was now humming along with her as she listened to the wireless.

Mary was fairing little better, based on the gaping mouth she currently sported as she listened to some undoubtedly inane story Sirius was telling her.

Internal Lily wanted to laugh at it all, but her eyes kept sliding away from the pair, across the room to the sixth-year boy who’d had a hand in the victory Sirius was most likely still talking about.

He hadn’t changed out of his uniform, though the sheen of sweat from the match was long since gone – she imagined he’d done some sort of spell ahead of the party. (She’d been imaging a lot of things lately. Things that sent sensible Lily’s face aflame.) His cheeks were rosy, whether from still donning the long sleeve jersey or the cask of firewhiskey he had taken it upon himself to drink Lily didn’t know. As usual his hair was in a state of disarray which, partnered with the uniform, could make Lily believe he had just come from the pitch. He wasn’t looking at her, occupied instead in conversation with seventh year Jenny Clearwater, one of his fellow Chasers.

Once upon a time Lily had liked Jenny.

Once upon a time Lily hadn’t given much thought to why James’ cheeks were flushed.

Once upon a time he wasn’t _James_ , either. But she seemed to have dropped _Potter_ somewhere between Halloween and Easter and she couldn’t be bothered to go back looking for it.

“Liking what you’re seeing, Evans?” called Sirius’ voice.

She was so contentedly buzzed, leaning back into the warm, soft chair that she had to physically force herself to move to look at him. It wasn’t _her_ fault her comfort led her to the perfect position looking in James’ direction.

“I don’t think she sees much of anything,” Remus offered, a small sympathetic look on his face. The boy could hold his drink. She wanted to fault him for it, but couldn’t bring herself to get angry.

“Gazing wistfully at James wuznt-she?”

“You caught me,” said Lily, flinging her legs off the chair and onto the floor. The world wobbled around her. “Oi – Potter. Ye greatest Quidditch Captain of noble Gryffindor. I offer my greatest affection to thee.”

“Tell him how you really feel!” came Peter’s instigating voice, somewhere behind Remus.

“Yeah, Evans. Tell him you _love_ him.”

“Potter - I love you!”

James’ face split into an easy, carefree smile. “What? I love you too, Evans, oh apple of my eye.”

Lily laughed, pushing herself back into the chair, shooting a victorious look at the boys – who, for some reason, seemed to be sending an equally victorious look back at her. “Oh, stuff it. You know I was just joking.”

“I know you _think_ you’re joking,” Sirius said, cheekily.

Lily rolled her eyes in response, downing the rest of her drink. Her stupid eyes went between James and Jenny before another victorious grin appeared on Sirius’ face – or perhaps it’d never left.

“Well, I can see my presence is no longer welcome here, so I ought to go to bed. Mary, are you coming?”

It took her two tries to push herself off the chair and to her feet. The force of which caused her to stumble and completely miss whatever Mary had replied. She took two unsteady steps forward before a set of strong hands caught her elbows.

“All right, Evans? Have you been drinking any water?”

“ _Peachy_ , Potter. And that entirely depends on what percentage of water there is in _punch_. You’re ace at Artithenmancy…er… so whatever that comes to, likely I dunno seventy to eighty percent multiply that by five.”

James laughed. And dammit if he wasn’t _so_ tall, and _so_ close, that she could feel the sound vibrating in his chest even louder than she heard him. His hands had not moved from her elbows, and she suddenly found that her hands were pressed to his stomach. Even sensible Lily licked her lips at this realization.

“I think you meant seventy to eighty percent of the punch was _whiskey_ not water. And five drinks, Evans? Here I was, thinking you were a responsible _prefect_. You ought to turn in your badge.”

“I’m a shoe-in for Head Girl, I’ll have you know.”

“And you should turn in that badge, too.”

She pulled away from him just enough to get a better look at his face. It was a mistake, because his grin exploded her stomach with butterflies. It wasn’t so long ago his look boiled her blood with molten anger instead of…

“And lose privileges to the Prefects’ bathroom? What kind of fool do you take me for?”

James laughed, but it was short and his cheeks seemed to turn a brighter pink in response. “Let’s get you some water before bed. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

“I doubt that.”

“ _Evans_.”

“Fine, fine. And they call _me_ an intolerable fusspot.”

Despite her grumblings, she tolerated him leading her to another chair in the common room. She then tolerated him pouring her a large glass of water and sitting with her as she drank it. She also tolerated him making her laugh until said water almost came out of her nose.

And by the time she went to bed, three glasses of water later, she thought she _might_ have tolerated him kissing her.


	4. 'did you ever consider I'm not as nice as everyone thinks I am?'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> did you ever consider I'm not as nice as everyone thinks I am?

James was no stranger to detention. Not that he actively _looked_ for it – opportunities for detention seemed to just find him. (Euphemia did not buy this excuse either.) Nevertheless, he got his first detention in second year and never looked back.

Lily Evans, on the other hand, did actively avoid detention. As far as James was aware, the only time she had gotten one was in third year when she was calling him a name that included some very colorful swear words, just as Professor McGonagall happened to be walking past the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.

He reacted to this event with unrestrained laughter – what else would a thirteen boy do?

She reacted by flipping him the bird before marching out of the hall. And continued reacting to it by ignoring him as much as humanly possible for the rest of term while still sharing a nearly identical class schedule and a common room.

They had a couple near misses in fourth year. While James carried himself wherever the pranks led him, and maybe hexed a person or two along the way, for the most part, Lily carried herself as a model student.

Which was why James stopped in his tracks as he entered Professor Slughorn’s classroom for detention, one January evening during their fifth year, when he saw her scrubbing a cauldron.

“All right, Evans?” he said, his hand flying to his hair.

Her eyes shot up to survey him with dislike. “Having a _splendid_ time, Potter.”

He grinned, gaining control of his legs and walking forward to the table Lily already occupied with a number of cauldrons.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, placing his cloak and bag over the back of a chair before beginning to roll his sleeves up. “What lands you in detention this glorious Thursday evening?”

She didn’t meet his eye, still scrubbing the inside of a cauldron with fervor. “Ah, a little of this, a little of that. Just your standard _Mudblood_ things.”

James fumbled the scrub brush he had just picked up. “ _What_?”

Lily sighed before shaking her head. “Nothing. It’s not important, it was stupid to let _them_ get to me.”

His face darkened, though Lily, ever occupied with the task at hand, did not notice. “Evans, that’s bullshit.”

She laughed mirthlessly. “Potter, if you hadn’t noticed…things aren’t going particularly well for muggleborns these days.”

“Yeah, and it’s bullshit,” he repeated as he started scrubbing his own cauldron. “Those guys – Avery, Mulciber and the lot – they think they’re going to get through life on their surname alone—”

“And they likely will.”

“—and even hundreds of years of sacred pureblood inbreeding didn’t give them a quarter of your talent, Evans.” His earnest tone made her look up. He was still speaking into his cauldron, his voice echoing slightly as he spoke. “ _They_ know that. But what they are counting on, is that _you_ don’t. Every look, and _slur_ , and threat… they’re not telling you what you’re worth, they’re showing how _little_ they’re worth.”

After a time passed without her replying, James’ finally looked up from the cauldron. She was staring at him, the expression on her face nothing like he’d ever seen when she was looking at him. Her brow, usually stitched in the middle in consternation, slackened. Her eyes, usually narrowed in apprehension or anger, widened. Her mouth, usually clenched tightly, parted.

“What?”

“I… I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Potter.”

“It’s the truth, Evans,” he said with fervor, knowing he would play those words over and over in his mind later. He studied her face which had now gone flush, committing it to memory as well. He started feeling his own face warm, and turned his attention back to his own cauldron, hopeful that she wouldn’t notice. He kept his voice casual, eager to lighten the conversation as he asked her, “are you going to tell me what you did?”

“Did you ever consider I’m not as nice as everyone thinks I am?”

He laughed. “Evans, you’re not _nice_. You are kind to those who deserve it, and loyal to those who earn it. But you are a force to be reckoned with to those stupid enough to go against you. And I know this from experience. So, if you ever need reminding of it, you know where to find me.”

She laughed, the beautiful sound echoing in the cauldron and his mind. “And where exactly will I find you?”

“Er, well. We have pretty similar class schedules, so there. And Quidditch practice is every other day with the Hufflepuff match so close. Then there’s always the common room—”

“Potter, I wasn’t being serious. But thanks. I…it’s…thanks,” she said, pink still tinging her cheeks. “We’d better get back to this. Professor Slughorn’s really let these get disgusting.”

He nodded, before remembering she wasn’t looking at him, and said, “Okay.”

They worked on in silence for a few strangely comfortable minutes, before Lily’s casual, echoey voice met his ears again: “Know any good jokes?”

His face split into a grin. Maybe after tonight, he wouldn’t need to memorize her laugh.


	5. not dating but we are so not platonic right now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> not dating but we are so not platonic right now

Lily Evans was no stranger to gossip, especially when it involved James Potter after he so boldly asked her out in front of half the school following one of their OWL written exams.

But she may have been surprised to find out to what extent that gossip could – and _did_ – escalate when she walked into the Great Hall with James on the evening of 3 November 1976, at 5:34 PM, and immediately sat down next to him at the Gryffindor table for supper. She might have noticed the attention they received from the sixth years in Hufflepuff house – the whispers, the stares, the turning heads – if she hadn’t been so focused on the conversation she was having with him.

She certainly _would_ have been surprised to find out that the Hufflepuff sixth years then decided to start a betting pool on when they – Lily and James – would become boyfriend and girlfriend publicly. That was indeed what happened; though, looking back, Lily would never even remember eating dinner with James that evening.

But the stares continued from there, in classes and between, at meals and on the grounds. Eyes searching for entwined fingers, breaths held when one leaned toward the other at the breakfast table, whispers in classes when they were partnered together. And though nothing had yet transpired, there was still some anticipation when the end-of-November Hogsmeade weekend came. Disappointment followed as James and his friends entered the pub just as Lily was leaving with her own. Then interest piqued again as a couple Hufflepuffs, who were sharing a table with a couple of _Ravenclaw_ sixth years, watched as Lily flew through the air in an attempt to give James a high five, which resulted in him catching her in his arms as they both laughed.

 _That_ was how the Ravenclaw sixth years became involved with the betting pool.

But the holidays came with no apparent change to Lily or James’ relationship statuses. They merely waved goodbye at the platform before going their separate ways.

Despite the sizable pot that had grown with the addition of Ravenclaw house, interest in the two faded as the new school term began. At least until one night at the end of January, just after the evening post arrived.

Lily was bent down reading a letter that was tightly clenched in her hands, and then suddenly her shoulders shook in a repressed sob before she stood and ran toward the door. Before she reached it, however, James had sprinted to her side, pulling her into his arms as they continued out of the Great Hall.

A particularly brazen Hufflepuff took it upon himself to _casually_ pop over to the Gryffindor table and ask if there was a _thing_ going on between the two.

Between icy stares that very easily should have resulted in a dead Hufflepuff, Lily and James’ friends were able to extract the truth behind his interest, before scathingly sending him back to the Hufflepuff table with a few choice words and the directive to put an end to the ridiculous pool.

However, a number of fifth year Gryffindors sitting close-by overheard. And _that_ was how students across numerous years from three of the four Hogwarts houses became involved with the betting pool.

They waited with baited breath as Valentine’s day and the corresponding Hogsmeade weekend came. For the first time ever, Lily, James, and their friends went to Hogsmeade together, but they stayed that way, as a group, and Lily and James did not even sit near each other as they ate lunch at The Three Broomsticks.

Time went on. And as April faded into May, and the last Hogsmeade weekend passed much in the same way as the others, the group of sixth year Hufflepuffs sorted the sickles and knuts and returned them back to their rightful owners.

***

On 26 May, sixth year Hufflepuff Melanie Abbott barely spared a glance for the pair – the pair she once was so _certain_ were going to be boyfriend and girlfriend by Valentine’s day – as she walked past their table in the overly crowded library.

Not that they would have noticed, consumed as they were on the current Transfiguration project for which they were partners. Time seemed to be passing slowly until James looked at his watch and realized the library was closing.

He stood, stretching, and Lily eyed him curiously to which he responded by pointing to his watch while he yawned.

“Oh bugger. I can’t believe it’s that late _already_ ,” she said as she placed the stopper in her inkwell and neatly stacked the parchment where they’d written their nearly-finished assignment.

With James’ help, it took no time for them to pack up their bags and leave the library. They strolled along the corridors, in sporadic, easy conversation until they reached the stairwell that provided a shortcut up to the fifth floor.

“Merlin, what a day. I should have stopped by the dorm before dinner so I could have dropped off my Arithmancy textbook,” she said offhandedly, as she readjusted her bookbag strap on her shoulder.

“Give it here, Evans,” replied James, holding his hand toward her, palm open as he gestured to her bag.

“Don’t be silly,” she said as they began climbing the stairs.

“I’m not being silly. You look tired. I’ll carry your bag for you.”

“Are you sure?”

“’Course I’m sure. Hand it over.”

A timid smile. “Well, thanks.”

A broad smile in return, and then blush as their fingers met during the hand-off.

They continued up the stairs, falling silent once more. James’ hand knocked into Lily’s as it flew to his tousled hair.

“Sorry.”

“No worries,” she said, subconsciously rubbing the spot where his fingers had touched her knuckles, as though they were on fire.

James’ hand dropped from his hair only after they reached the fifth-floor corridor. “All right, Evans?”

“Yeah, thanks,” she answered. “I can carry my bag the rest of the way.”

“Really, I don’t mind,” he said, just as she reached her hand out to grab the bag from his shoulder. She missed, though, and her grasp instead caught his jumper which halted him in stride. He spun around, not knowing what was currently impeding him and bumped into her. He swore, immediately catching her arm with his hand to stop her from stumbling backwards into the stone wall behind her. “Shit, sorry Evans.”

“No, it was my fault, really.”

The moment grew long as they stared at each other, closer than they had ever stood, with James holding her tightly to him.

Without thinking, he leaned down and kissed her, hard on the mouth, before seeming to come to his senses and pulling away, swearing out an apology again as he stepped backward.

“Lily, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I mean, well I do, but that’s no excuse. And I totally understand if you want to hex me for it—”

Lily, now apparently coming to _her_ senses, moved forward, closing the distance he had put between them, and tugged on his jumper again, this time downward. Before he could even voice his confusion, she smiled coyly at him and very seriously told him, “ _About time_. I’ve been wanting you to do that for _ages_.”

A million questions popped into his head. And maybe at some point he’d get around to asking them. But at _this_ particular moment, he was wise enough to let their schoolbags drop from his shoulder and use his arms instead for a much better purpose: lifting her to him for another – gloriously _longer_ – kiss.


	6. 'why are you wearing my jumper?'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why are you wearing my sweater*?”  
> “Because it smells like you.”
> 
> *changed to jumper

James bounded down the stairs into the Heads common room, smiling as he saw the shining red hair of the girl in the largest armchair near the fire. She was cuddled up with a book, legs drawn over the side of the chair, the epitome of comfort and coziness. She smiled her greeting when he came into view and it only made him smile more, knowing his presence now impacted her so positively compared to previous years.

“Morning, Evans,” he said, now working on tying his tie, which he had neglected to do as he hastily dressed in his room. “Bit of light reading before breakfast?”

“Hey there. Sure, why not? Though it was difficult to concentrate when you were singing in the shower. Ever heard of a silencing charm?”

He blushed, grateful she was still looking at her book and didn’t appear to notice.

“I’ve been told I have a voice like an angel, I’ll have you know.”

“And who told you that? Your mum?”

“I…I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

Lily’s only reply came as a snort as she turned the page of her book and nuzzled further into the couch.

James tried to ignore her, throwing a look at his watch and realizing he only had thirty minutes to get breakfast before Transfiguration started. He did not revel in the idea of being scolded by Professor McGonagall before the first month of term was even over. He wouldn’t put it past to her to put him in detention, Head Boy or not.

With that in mind he walked quickly across the room to the pair of writing desks, one each for him and Lily, where their books and bags were stacked haphazardly. He pursed his lips as he saw his empty desk chair. He was confident he had left his jumper there the night before. Perhaps the house-elves had come to launder it? But no, then it would have been waiting on his dresser when he woke up and it definitely had not been.

“Hey – Evans, have you seen my jumper by chance? I’d left it over here on my chair last night.”

He pulled the chair out before kneeling down to look under the desk, in case it had fallen at some point. When he straightened himself back up, Lily was at his side.

“I think I found it,” she said, a small, forgive-me smile on her lips as she raised her hands in the air. It took him a moment to realize she wasn’t shrugging, but gesturing toward the jumper she was wearing. Her hands were not visible and it was so long on her small frame that it nearly reached her knees. Her skirt was barely visible underneath it, making it only _too_ easy for him to image she wasn’t wearing one. He swallowed as his eyes rose back to her face, worried she would think he was ogling her – which, he knew he did quite frequently but since the beginning of sixth year felt he was doing a bang-up job of hiding.

“Why are you wearing my jumper?” he found himself asking, because what else was he going to say when his insides were currently squirming while his heart chanted, _She’s wearing my jumper!_ over and over as if it wasn’t already painfully obvious to the rest of his body.

“Because itsmellslikeyou,” she answered quickly as she tucked the sleeve back enough that her hand came into view again.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that. What did you say?”

“Because I thought it was mine,” she said, meeting his eye now.

He studied her again, confused. That’s not what he _thought_ he’d heard her say. But he admittedly didn’t sleep particularly well the night before, so maybe he was having a slow start to the day mentally as well as physically.

He really wanted to ask her for further clarification, but settled instead on: “Evans, it’s down to your knees, you couldn’t possibly have thought that was yours, surely.”

She shrugged, somehow snuggling deeper into the jumper. Why was it driving him mad to see her standing there in his school jumper? He knew the answer, and loved and hated it at the same time.

“Do you want it back?”

He bit his inner cheek. _No, I want you to wear it around the castle for all to see. Like I’m yours. Like you’re mine._ “Do you _want_ to keep wearing it?” he countered.

“Well, I have already warmed it up, you know. I think it’s only fair that I should get to keep wearing it.”

He supposed she was right about that – her cheeks were a beautiful warm blush which stretched over her perfectly freckled nose.

“Okay,” he found himself saying, reaching for his cloak which hung on a peg next to the portrait hole.

“Really?”

“Sure, Evans. Wouldn’t want you to be cold now, would we? Fancy getting breakfast before Transfiguration?”

“Sounds good to me,” she replied, tossing her bag over her shoulder before motioning him to go ahead of her out the portrait hole.

She rolled the sleeves up as they walked side-by-side down the corridor. He swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing his eyes forward when all they wanted to do was look at her wearing his jumper. He knew if he weren’t careful his thoughts would carry him elsewhere, somewhere he shouldn’t go until much, much later that evening.

“Y’know, people may notice you’re wearing my jumper and start… _talking_.”

She smiled another small, dimpled smile at him. “I know.”

He swallowed again. She would be the death of him. He was going to die, and would be cold when he did so because he wouldn’t have his jumper. She bumped her ( _his_ ) jumper-clad shoulder into his side as they reached the stairwell. He took a chance, throwing his arm over her shoulders, and found that she snuggled herself closer to him as they started descending the stairs.

What a way to go.


	7. 'any other lies left to tell me?'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Any other lies left to tell me?”

“Any other lies left to tell me?”

Her voice comes suddenly, and it’s sharp in the way that makes her petite stature grow a foot taller. His laughter dies as he turns around, locking eyes with her. He honestly has no idea what she is talking about, but there is always the chance he’s done something, so his mouth bobs open like a fish as he stares.

“I’ll have you know I was just in the Hospital Wing to pick up a Pepper Up potion for Mary, and I happened to see Snape and Avery being patched up by Madam Pomfrey,” she says. The common room falls quiet around her. Not that he focuses on anything besides his beautiful and furious girlfriend. “Just because I had a _small_ run-in with them in the dungeons last week doesn’t give you the _right_ to hex them. I can handle—”

“Hang on,” he says, now rising to meet her, leveling the playing field as his height – _and_ _anger_ – tower over her. “What d’you mean, you had a run-in with Snape last week?”

She balks now, the furrowed brow of righteous anger quickly replaced by clashing red from her neck to hairline.

“It was nothing,” she says, keeping her back straight as though some how she will remain dignified in a conversation she sees, based on her boyfriend’s glare, is _quickly_ spiraling out of control.

“Then you shouldn’t have a problem telling me what happened, yeah?”

She is suddenly very aware that most of Gryffindor tower is watching them and her face turns impossibly redder. “Can we go somewhere and speak about this privately? Your dorm or something?”

Her pleading tone and roaming eyes draw James’ attention back to the room and he acquiesces instantly, gesturing for her to follow him up the boys’ stairwell. She marches behind him dutifully, and they both remain silent until she shuts the dormitory door and he casts a quick silencing charm around them.

“I don’t want to fight about this,” she tells him quickly, before he can get a word in.

“Oddly, that didn’t seem to be my initial impression from you calling me a liar in front of the entire common room,” James says calmly, but there is a bite to his voice that she has been familiar with for years.

This time she deserves it, and she knows it.

“You’re right. I messed up, James. I’m sorry.” She angrily curses the tears that are prodding the back of her eyes. This is James, _her_ James. He knows her, and she’s pretty sure he loves her. He deserves better than accusation. She places her palm to her eye, wiping the moisture away. “Go on then.”

“Go on then?”

“Go on and yell? Or whatever. I deserve it.”

He sighs, ruffling his hair, as she continues to look away from him. “I’m not going to yell at you, Lily. I’m just… This wasn’t how I wanted to end my night.” She can only nod her reply. “I wish you’d tell me when you have run-ins with the Slytherins. And trust that I won’t go off and hex the lot of them, even though they largely deserve it. You have to trust me if this is going to work.”

“I know, and I do, James. And I—I’m sorry. I made a poor assumption. One you’ve proven time and again is not true.”

He closes the distance between them now and pushes her chin upward so she is forced to look at him.

“I understand. Last year, I probably would have done exactly as you thought. But I’m working to be less impulsive. And in turn, I’m trusting you to come to me about things.” His strong hands are on either side of her face now, holding her tenderly as she nods. “Just say the word and I’ll go hex Snape and Avery _happily_. Really, I’m pleased to go do so – should I go now? Even a nod will do.”

She’s laughing now at the smirk on his face. He brushes his lips quickly over hers as he lowers his hands from her face to her waist.

“You know you’re going to have to tell me what happened last week, right? Unless you want me to not sleep tonight.”

“What if I don’t want you to sleep tonight?” she asks, a mischievous glint in her own eye, as she takes advantage of their current height difference (or lack thereof), throwing her arms around his neck playfully.

“Then I’d say you’re a cruel one, Lily Evans, unless it’s for some reason that doesn’t involve run-ins with Slytherins.”

She answers him with wordless lips, pulling him more firmly toward her before leading him toward his four-poster.


End file.
